


Waking

by Splinter



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Night Terrors, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 20:01:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8636233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splinter/pseuds/Splinter
Summary: The jittery energy of having been scared is still rattling through her brain, through her body. She’s tired and wired and bewildered.





	

Furiosa comes awake with a jolt, her body clenched in panic. It’s dark, muffled and warm. There’s an arm over her, heavy with muscle, weighing her down. Before she’s fully conscious, she’s fighting out from under it, running on adrenaline and fear.

Once she’s out of the bed, her brain starts to clear. She tries to clamp down on herself, to quiet her pounding heart and skittering thoughts. The arm was Max’s, wrapped around her rather than trapping her. Her breath harsh, she reaches for the candle, gets it lit. 

Max is pressed back against the wall, as far away from her as he can get. She’s not sure if he’s giving her space or driven by his own fears. The first, she thinks: he looks sleepy and bemused, not scared.

She trusts him as much as she has ever trusted anyone. Her body had been relaxed and sated, sleeping deeply after sex. The panic had been overwhelming and, as far as she can see, completely unprompted. 

“Hey.” Max gives her a moment, doesn’t push. His voice is still rough with sleep. “Bad dream?”

She shrugs, doesn’t know how to say that it wasn’t. This was a physical reaction to muscle and maleness, to someone else in her bed with her. She wants him there, likes those things about him. She thought she’d got used to it. She hates what just happened, but doesn’t want to lie about it. Max nods, hums. 

“I, mm. Could sleep in my car.” He’s sitting up, ready to gather himself, ready to go.

“No. Please.” It’s needier than she likes. He hums again, waits. There are other rooms in the Citadel, guest rooms and sleeping places, but he speaks as if her bed or his car are his only choices. She doesn’t know what to do with that. A shiver goes through her.

They’d slept naked, and the warmth of the bed has quickly dissipated. Goosebumps are rising on her skin, but the shiver is internal, a suppressed panic reaction that has been there from the moment she woke. She realises she’s hugging herself defensively, arms crossed over her belly. Cautiously, with no sudden movements, Max gropes under the pillows, under the blanket, finds the shirt and shorts she had discarded and pushes them towards her. She sits down to put them on, miserable but needing the warmth. While she does that, he gets up and edges past her. 

He comes back with a pair of her socks, threadbare but still another layer. Sitting at the end of the bed, he reaches out, slow and wary, to pick up one of her feet. His hands feel hot on her icy toes. With a rumble of disapproval, he starts to rub and chafe her foot, warming it between his hands. Once the chill starts to fade, he puts a sock on her and moves to her other foot. 

The way his hands work isn’t a massage, but a much softer touch. He strokes without holding on to her, nothing to make her feel trapped. It takes longer, but she starts to relax as he gentles her. When he’s done, he tucks the blanket back over her legs. 

The candle has started to smoke. Max gets up to see to it, trimming the wick so the flame burns clear.

“Can leave this lit,” he suggests. Furiosa is tempted. Candles aren’t scarce, what with Joe’s old world stockpile, petroleum dips from Gastown and the hope of beeswax from the newly-established hive. They’re already due a new ration of dips, and the light is reassuring. But it feels so wasteful to leave it burning, even though there’s only a short stump of wax left. It’s strange that the suggestion comes from Max, who needs to be reminded that they have lamps, who will make do with fading daylight until it’s practically full dark. 

“Don’t have to decide at once,” he says, quiet. He leaves the candle where it is and climbs back into bed, keeping his distance as he pulls the covers up.

She’s cold, even with her clothes back on, even with the blankets. The jittery energy of having been scared is still rattling through her brain, through her body. She’s tired and wired and bewildered, angry that this is happening. 

Max puts his hand out towards her. He’s telegraphing his movements, letting her see what he's doing, giving her plenty of time to react. When she takes his hand, he moves closer, waits until she turns to face him. She rests her nub on his chest. It’s contact and barrier at the same time, touching him but keeping a short space between them. She lies there for a while, feeling his chest rise and fall. At last, she pushes closer, lets herself curl against him.

“Can I – ” He gestures, offering to put his arm back around her. She nods, not trusting her voice. She tenses up as he reaches for her, very aware that he’s moving back into the position that set this off. When he touches her, the warmth and pressure of his arm is immediately comforting. The deep breath she takes is close to being a sob of relief. She doesn’t understand how her body can crave him and be panicked by him, almost at the same time. 

He starts to stroke her back, his arm light around her. His hand slides to the hem of her shirt, waits for her response. When she presses closer, he strokes up under the fabric, over her bare back. His hand comes to rest between her shoulder blades, firm and wide and warm. He holds it there, not even stroking. At last, she feels herself relax, tense muscles easing under the heat of his hand. The fearful, fluttery sensation leaves her belly. Max is the one who sighs.

She wants to say something, but it’s too much, too complicated. Close to tears, she gives a hiccup and leans into him, her nub around his waist and her face against his shoulder. He nuzzles at the top of her head. She’s asleep before the candle starts to flicker.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm at [lurkinghistoric](http://lurkinghistoric.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


End file.
